Pon tus sucias manos ante el espejo, recoje la cosecha de tu campo de batalla mientras comenzamos nuestra evasion.
Nadie bendice tus podridas manos, todavia sendientas de dolor ajeno.
Empieza a escribir tus memorias de manchas de gasolina antes de que veas que los parajos no son de petroleo, que el sueno de la razon produce monstruos y nadie esta alli para bendecir tu feo cadaver.
Place your dirty hands in front of the mirror, pick the harvest of your battlefield while we start our evasion.
Nobody bless your rotten hands still thirsty of others' suffering.
Start to write your memories of gasoline spots before you see birds are not made of oil, before you see the dream of the reason creates monsters and nobody is there to bless your ugly corpse.
Nadie bendice tus podridas manos, todavia sendientas de dolor ajeno.
Empieza a escribir tus memorias de manchas de gasolina antes de que veas que los parajos no son de petroleo, que el sueno de la razon produce monstruos y nadie esta alli para bendecir tu feo cadaver.
Place your dirty hands in front of the mirror, pick the harvest of your battlefield while we start our evasion.
Nobody bless your rotten hands still thirsty of others' suffering.
Start to write your memories of gasoline spots before you see birds are not made of oil, before you see the dream of the reason creates monsters and nobody is there to bless your ugly corpse.